


Day and Night

by PeculiarEvents



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, Musing, Sad Harry, Severitus, Sick Harry, Sickfic, but only like really light, headache, sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:42:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24564052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeculiarEvents/pseuds/PeculiarEvents
Summary: The nightmares could certainly wake Harry without fail--thrashing and sweating into his sheets, but the searing pain in his scar kept him awake.Harry struggles with the pain caused by Voldemort's connection to him during his 5th year. The pain is terrible, almost as bad as staying awake all night with his fears and concerns swirling in his head.However, Harry will find reprieve from the most unlikely of sources.Lots and lots of whump... sorry harry!
Comments: 4
Kudos: 204





	1. Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Everyone! This is my first ever fanfic, so please be kind! This idea came to me while I struggled through a migraine during quarantine, and with all this extra time...  
> I hope you enjoy!  
> PS: I didn;t beta, or even reread it im sorry maybe ill go back

It wasn’t truly the nightmares that kept him up all night, Harry thought as he stared up at the maroon velvet suspended from the four posts on his bed. The nightmares could certainly wake him without fail--thrashing and sweating into his sheets, but the searing pain in his scar kept him awake.

Harry contemplated this riddle as he glanced around the dormitory. He could hear the faintest of mumbling emerging from Neville’s bed, and light snores from Ron and Seamus. He was glad that they could sleep so peacefully. He cared for his friends, but couldn’t stop the slight pang of jealousy felt deep in his chest. As much as he tried to not dwell on it, sometimes he wanted to scream and shout, to bang his fists against the ground, to pout and cry. He’d gladly give up his entire Gringotts vault, and all of his ‘Chosen One’ fame, if only to have a normal life. He might have learnt to joke about his fame (much to Hermione’s chagrin), but Harry couldn’t help his almost juvenile frustration. It just wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Voldemort murdered his parents. It wasn’t fair that he killed Cedric, or that Wormtail forced his Godfather to hide away for over a decade in prison. And, it wasn’t fair that he was stuck with this god awful headache. 

Harry reveled in his temporary sulking, allowing his thoughts to swirl around until he began to hear the chirps of the earliest birds emanating from the Forbidden Forest. Through his window, Harry could see the first signs of inky blue encroaching on the black sky. After a moment of contemplation, he rose and silently padded to the bathrooms. Hopefully, a cool shower could ease some of the pain in his head. The initial searing pain of a nightmare had faded to a generalized pounding that seemed to echo into the back of his skull.

After his shower, Harry sat on his bed for a moment, once again listening to the early morning sounds of the outside world drifting into his room. It would still be a few hours until Ron and everyone woke up for breakfast. Harry paused, considering his options. He knew that there was a vial and a half of a headache draught buried in a sock in his trunk. But, Harry had already taken a full dose the night before in order to get to sleep. He knew the dangers of taking too much of the draught within twelve hours. As rash as he was, Harry wasn’t stupid. 

After a few moments of deliberation, Harry decided to slip on his shoes and an old robe, and crept down the stairs. He didn’t bother taking his invisibility cloak or the map. After all, it technically wasn’t past curfew. Not even the earliest of risers had woken yet, and the common room was empty, the hearth cold and dark. Harry slipped out of the portrait hole, and into the castle beyond.

The corridors were empty and still. The dawn lighting lit just enough for Harry to see ahead, and he moved slowly, as if walking through water. The portraits were still asleep, and barely stirred as wandered. Everything seemed to be frozen. Like he stumbled on a long abandoned castle, full of memories and dust.

Harry’s thoughts drifted as he moved through the castle. He knew that he should probably use his free time to catch up on his homework, he had a mountain of OWL essays waiting for him. But between the pain in his skull, and his exhaustion, it felt like someone had wrapped cotton wool around his head. Besides, he thought bitterly, he was already behind and had a sneaking suspicion that some of his professors were giving him leeway given his “difficult situation.”

Harry looked up from his musings, and realized that he wandered all the way down to the basement during the course of his deliberations. With a sigh, he plopped down between two tapestries in the corridor, and leaned against the stone wall. It was cold, and he leaned his head against the wall, hoping that the cool could somehow leech some of the pain out of his head. Harry let out a shaky sigh and closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but the silence of the corridor led him to believe that it was still far too early for him to awake, let alone roaming the halls.

He closed his eyes and reflected on his latest nightmare. There was nothing concrete this time, just an amalgamation of pain, anger, and laughter. The greatest horror, Harry decided, wasn’t watching Death Eaters torture and kill. No, the worst part was the glee that bubbled up as he watched the atrocities. It was enough to make his stomach churn. Sitting alone in the corridor, Harry questioned again how he could react like that. He only felt that sick pleasure during his nightmares, but he couldn’t help but ask if there was some twisted part of himself that truly enjoyed it.  
With his head full of snarled questions, Harry stood up and began to head back to Gryffindor tower. He could hear the castle starting to wake up, and didn’t want anyone to find him in his state. He could see the Daily Prophet headline now, “Boy Who Lies Begins to Unravel!” Harry mused darkly.

Harry began trudging back up the staircases. As he reached the Great Hall, Harry lowered his eyes to the ground. Despite Scotland’s proclivity for overcast days, there seemed to be not a cloud in sight today. The rising sun sent icepicks of pain through his skull and really, were there always so many windows here?

A loud scrape caused Harry to sharply wince and look up from the tiled floor. Across the hall, a dark figure was entering the main door, turning back to shut it firmly. Squinting to sharpen his vision, a greasy mop of dark hair and a hooked nose came into focus. 

Snape began to move slowly across the hall, uncharacteristically unobservant. Something about his movements seemed off to Harry. He walked stiffly, and was that? Yes, there was a slight limp in his gait.

As if sensing the pair of green eyes observing him, Snape stiffly stopped and spun towards Harry. His face quickly twisted into a sneer and his whole demeanor shifted. Despite standing at opposite ends of the Great Hall, Harry could feel the way Snape stared haughtily down at Harry, as if he were no more than a particularly slimy flobberworm.   
“Lurking the halls so early Potter? What could you be conspiring,” Snape taunted.

Harry stared back silently for a moment, before he broke eye contact, and turned his head to the ground. He was too tired to fight back at Snape, and Harry couldn’t find it in himself to care about the light jeer. Sensing that he wasn’t going to get a rise out of Harry, Snape turned and continued in the direction of the dungeons. Harry watched for a moment before continuing to the tower.


	2. Day

Harry’s fork chased around the mushed up eggs and sausage on his plate. _They look like brains, all slimy, gross, and pied. He’d never actually seen brains, but he supposed that they looked like this._

“Harry!’ Hermione exclaimed, with a hint of worry in her voice.

Harry jerked up, removing his head from where it had been cradled in the palm of his hand. He looked over at Hermione, and blinked once in an attempt to clear the stars dancing around her mane of bushy hair. The sudden movement caused a bolt of pain to go through his head, and Harry tried to suppress his wince. Next to her, Ron stared at Harry a bit too closely, and his eyebrows furrowed together at the pained look on Harry’s face. Harry had the distinct feeling that it wasn’t the first time Hermione called his name, and tried to ease her concern.

“What is it ‘Mione?”

“I was just asking you if you’re alright, you look awfully pale,” she noted while looking at Harry through squinted eyes. “And you haven’t eaten any of your breakfast.”

“I’m fine. Just a bit tired, that’s all,” and Harry returned to his plate. In truth, Harry was exhausted. After his run-in with Snape, he returned to the Gryffindor common room. Still unable to sleep, he worked on his Potions essay. The letters swam before his eyes, but he managed to polish off the 16 inches, and still have time to review his herbology notes. The sound of Hermione’s lowered voice brought Harry back to the present.

“Are you having bad nightmares again?” She asked softly. Before Harry could think of a response, Ron chipped in.

“Maybe you ought to go to Madame Pomfrey, mate. We do have double potions today, and Snape would probably give you detention for a month if he caught you nodding off. You don’t need that on top of Umbridge.”

“I’m _fine._ Really, it’s just your snoring Ron that keeps me up all night.”

“Hey! I don’t snore! It’s Seamus and Neville’s sleeptalking that keeps people up!” Ron’s accusations sparked an argument with the other two Gryffindor boys, and Ron turned his attention away. Harry let out a breath of relief. As he turned back towards his uneaten dish, he caught Hermione giving him a long gaze. Harry ignored it, and leaned his head back into his hand, rubbing the back of his neck with his spare hand.

After breakfast Harry, Ron, and Hermione headed off to Transfigurations. Despite the last dose of Headache Draught he surreptitiously slipped, the pounding in Harry’s head held strong. Professor McGonagle’s stern voice and long lecture sparked waves of pain that reverberated through Harry’s skull. Harry quickly began to regret not taking Ron’s advice from breakfast. At least Madame Pomfrey would let Harry take a nap. Try as he might to concentrate on McGonagle’s lecture about dangers of animal-object transformation, he simply could not follow. Every word she said seemed to fly in one ear, and straight out the other.

When McGonagle finally dismissed them, Harry flew out of his seat. He ignored the slight disapproving look from his head of house, and raced out the door.

Ron and Hermione beat him to it thought, and stood side by side with equally worried expressions. Hermione began pulling him down into a secluded corridor, Ron hanging next to Harry’s side as if he might run away.

“Harry what’s _wrong._ Me and Ron saw the way you were acting in Transfigurations, don’t lie to us.”

“C’mon mate, we’re your friends, talk to us.”

Harry sighed and slumped his shoulder against the corridor wall.

“Truthfully, I’ve had this bad headache. It started last night, and I didn’t get much sleep.” He avoided telling Ron and Hermione that this headache might have started the previous night, but other headaches have been cropping up for months. “I took a headache draught before Transfigurations, though. I’ve over an hour till potions, so I think I’m going to head up and try to take a kip beforehand.”

Hermione bit her lip. “I really think you should go see Madame Pomfrey, Harry.”

“It’s ok, really. I think I just need some sleep. You guys go on.”

After some gentle encouragement, Hermione headed to her Ancient Runes class, and Ron (rather uncharacteristically) went to the Great Hall to study. Harry sighed in relief when they left, and began navigating to Gryffindor tower. The staircases were especially finicky that day, and it took him longer than expected to make his way to his bed.

When he arrived, he threw himself face first into the covers, groaning slightly into his pillow. The pain was still present in his head, but mercifully seemed to have dulled a notch. Harry hardly took off his shoes and glasses before he passed out in his covers.

Mercifully, his sleep was deep and dreamless. When Harry awoke, he sat up in bed, momentarily confused about waking in the bright afternoon sun and empty room. His confusion quickly faded, and his mind finally felt clear for the first time in a long time. He paused for a moment, appreciating the bright stillness of the room. For a moment, all that existed was the warm beams of sunlight streaming in through the Gryffindor windows, with dust motes swirling through them like little sparks of magic. Harry slid his glasses, and glanced at the watch on his bedside table.

Suddenly he jerked up from bed. His headache had faded to only a slightly dull ringing at the back of his skull. Consequently, he had slept for _far_ too long. He would have to run just to make it to the dungeon in time for potions.

Harry hurriedly threw on his shoes and grabbed his bookback. He flew out of the tower, sprinting down the halls, scattering a few packs of stationary first years in the halls.

By the time he reached the potions classroom, the door was already opened. Harry’s heart sank; he arrived after Snape. Somehow, he managed to slink in through the doors. They slammed shut behind him, nearly catching the end of his robes. Harry sat down at the closest table, and immediately looked down into his notes, hoping to avoid Snape’s ire.

“Ahhh,” a voice silkily enunciated. Harry’s heart sank. He paused for a split moment, weighing his options. _Nothing to lose, I guess._

Harry snapped his head up, “Sir?” He responded with the slightest tinge of sarcasm sharpening his voice.

“I see you’ve decided to grace us with your presence today. We must thank our lucky stars you saw fit to squeeze us into your schedule.”

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but before he could retort Snape cut him off.

“As thanks, I’ll allow you and Mr. Longbottom to pulverize the Bulgarian leeches for the Addlebass’s Elixir the class is brewing today. You may begin at the back station while I lecture.”

Snape spun on his heels before Harry could protest. Harry looked over and saw Neville swallow a sigh. It seems Harry sat next to him in his haste, and dragged him into his punishment.

“Oh, and 10 points from Gryffindor for the cheek.”

Harry fumed silently, and went to the station Snape pointed out. A grimace stained his face as he saw, smelt, and _tasted_ the large bowl of squirming creatures. From the front of the class, Harry could hear Snape’s nearly mirthful lecture.

“Of course, Bulgarian slugs must always be prepared fresh, and live.”

Harry choked down a gag, and got to work on the slugs, determined to not give Snape the pleasure of watching him squirm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so went from originally one shot to two shot to now me on the saturday after finals: I dont even know how many shots


	3. Evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i finally figured out where the heck this thing is going. 4 chapters (i promise this time), and finishing up the last one now! 
> 
> ps: lots more whump ahead srry harry

Harry flinched as a particularly juicy leech popped under his pestle. The leech juices squirted up, spraying black splatter across his glasses. He cleaned them with the edge of his robe, and sent a particularly sharp glare towards the Snape’s back. 

Snape was just concluding his lecture, and the potions students were scrambling to keep up with the fast, dense information he threw towards them. Harry sighed at the lost opportunity for notes. He knew that Hermione would give him the information, but it wasn’t the same. Next to him, Neville let out another squeal as a leech squirmed under his pestle. Neville’s bowl of mashed leeches was substantially emptier than Harry’s, but Harry didn’t mind. Snape only punished Neville for having the bad luck of sitting next to Harry.

Harry glanced up at the potions professor again, and watched him move from the board to his desk. Perhaps it was Harry’s imagination, but he could swear that he could still notice the slight limp in his gait that he noted early that morning in the Great Hall. 

Harry was so caught up in his thoughts, he nearly didn’t notice as the professor turned and began approaching Harry and Neville. Harry turned his head back to his work. He realized with some pride that they’d reduced the entire bowl of leeches to just a few stragglers in the bottom, and the prepared potions ingredients sat before them.

“Wow Mr. Potter,” Snape slurred with mock surprise. “You’re quite the leecher, perhaps you’ve found your calling.”

Harry grit his teeth, and didn’t respond. The combination of the sounds of the grinding stone, Snape’s nasally tone, and the smell of leeches had brought Harry’s headache back with a vengeance. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bed again, but he wouldn’t give Snape the satisfaction of watching him falter.

“May I begin brewing the potion...Sir?”

Snape paused for a moment, seemingly assessing the leeches. After a long minute he pronounces,

“Yes. Longbottom and Potter, get to work.”

Neville murmurs a “thank you sir,” before they both go to thor bench to retrieve their tools. While Harry goes to gather the potion’s ingredients, Ron grabs him aside and whispers in his ear.

“Harry, when you weren’t as lunch, we assumed you’d skip, or go to Madame Pomfrey, not come here to get bullied by the greasy git.”

“5 points from Gryffindor for collaboration.” Called out a voice from the back of the classroom.

“Really Harry, if you aren’t feeling well you shouldn’t be here,” Hermione whispered.

“5 more points from Gryffindor, and and should this continue, I can only assume some form of cheating Ms. Granger.”

Hermione and Ron pulled away, but shot Harry a worried gaze. He smiled back in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. 

By the time they were Halfway through the brewing block, Harry wished he took Hermione and Ron’s advice. Neville was so flustered from his in class punishment, that he had nearly exploded their potion half a dozen times, and Harry already vanished and restarted twice. He quickly realized that there was no way they’d successfully finish it, and judging from the smirk on Snape’s face, he knew it too. To make matters even worse, the pounding in Harry’s head seemed to have increased by a hundred decibels. Harry’s vision in his left eye had gone wonky, and he had to squint just read the potion instructions. 

Harry nearly sighed out loud in relief when Snape announced the brewing period was over, and instructed them to bottle their potions. Harry quickly bottled him and Neville’s viscous white potion. He labeled it, and placed it among his classmates potions; all some shade of green blue he noted absently. Rather than feel upset over their certain failing grade, Harry just wanted to hightail it out of Potions, and find a nice cool, dark, empty classroom to relax in.

He had nearly made it out of the potions classroom he felt a hand grab the back hood of his robe.

“Not so fast Mr. Potter,” a staccato voice intoned. “For your tardiness you may clean up your leeching station.”

Harry could hear Ron and Hermione protest his detention behind him, but spun around before Snape could take any more house points from them.

“Yes Sir,” Harry responded in a monotonous voice. He turned towards Ron and Hermione, “It’s fine. I’ve got to study Transfigurations later anyway--you guys go ahead to supper, don’t wait up.”

Ron and Hermione hesitated, but hurried along when Snape loudly cleared his throat. Harry _did_ need to study for their Transfigurations exam, but he knew there was no chance he could tonight with the way his head seemed to pound with every heartbeat.

Snape glanced down at Harry after his remark, perhaps staring for just a second too long. Harry held his gaze until Snape broke it, turning towards the leech table. 

Harry hadn’t really noticed, but him and Neville had made a bit of a mess. The guts and juice from the leeches was pooling on the bench, and plastered the stone wall and floor around the table. As the leeches dried, they seemed to give off even more of a stench, and Harry wrinkled his nose. Snape reached into a cupboard, and pulled out a scrub brush and bucket.

“Clean. No Magic.”

Harry just nodded in response, and began filling the bucket with water from the tap.

After about 25 minutes of scrubbing, the little stars and spots in the corner of his left eye had spread to cover nearly all of the left side of his vision, and he could see the same little stars forming in his right eye. Everything seemed to hurt. Even the scratch of Snape’s quill grading papers seemed absurdly loud and sharp.

Suddenly, a wave of dizziness hit Harry. He dropped the scrub brush, and a new wave of pain hit. This time, it came from his scar, and seemed to radiate to the base of his skull, and down his spine. It started to fade and Harry opened his eyes. He realized he no longer heard the scratch of Snape’s ruthless correcting quill, and looked up. Snape stood a few feet back, giving Harry that same quizzical expression.

Harry went to stand, but before he could, a wall of overwhelming nausea assaulted Harry. Without realizing what was happening, he leaned forward, and heaved in front of him. His throat burned, his eyes watered, and the space behind his right eye erupted in pain.

After a moment, Harry opened his eyes and wiped his hand across the back of his mouth. In front of him, his sick speckled Snape’s long teaching robes and leather boots. Harry slowly looked up, his gazing roaming up the tall man’s form. Harry had never seen the particular expression on Snape’s face before (and that’s saying something considering their wide range of interactions). Harry didn’t think it was good.

He started backing up, still on the ground. 

“I-I’m really sorry Sir, I swear I didn’t do that on purpose. It was just...just the smell. I’m sorr-”

“Leave.” Snape’s simple and terse command cut Harry off. He paused for only a moment, watching Snape’s feature twitch, before he quickly gathered his bag and hurried out. Behind him, Harry could hear a vanishing spell.

Harry didn’t look back, and ran up the stairs, heading to a familiar seventh floor corridor.


	4. Dusk

Harry stayed in the Room of Requirements for over two hours, according to his watch. His pacing had revealed a small, cozy room. It was dark, with just enough of a soft glow to illuminate the cushions and blankets covering the floor. The air was cool and still (and thankfully didn’t carry the stench of Bulgarian leeches).

Harry’s head thanked him for the opportunity to rest. But, despite his exhaustion, he couldn’t sleep. His mind kept swirling in circles. How could Harry ever hope to face Voldemort if a simple headache disabled him? What terrible punishment would Snape use for Harry throwing up on him? Most of all he just wondered why.

Before long, Harry knew he must return to Gryffindor. If he didn’t return before curfew, Ron and Hermione would get worried. They might even go searching for him, and Harry didn’t want them getting into trouble on his account. 

He moved slowly, trying to not further agitate the pounding in his head. Harry had a sinking feeling that this headache wasn’t about to just fade on its own. But, he pushed that to the back of his mind.

The short trip to his dormitory left his feeling exhausted, like he’d just finished a whole day’s worth of flying maneuvers. Even the Fat lady gave him a worried glance as he murmured the password to enter. As soon as Harry stepped in through the portrait hole, and the painting swung shut behind him, Ron and Hermione seemed to appear at his side. They both wore twin expressions of concern, and started badgering Harry with questions.

“Where’ve you been Harry? We’ve been so worried, you weren’t at supper, or in the library,” Hermione said with a frown on her face.

“I’d begun to worry that Snape finally did you in for,” Ron pipped in.

“Oh _Please,_ Ron. You know that Snape would never actually hurt Harry, don’t be ridiculous.” 

Before they could start bickering, Harry cut in. “It’s ok. All Snape had me do was clean up all the leech guts. Then I found an empty room to work in. I’m still exhausted though, I’m going to head to bed early.”

Harry felt guilt blossoming in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t _necessarily_ lying to his friends, but he knew he wasn’t telling them the full truth. He’d tell them the whole story, he decided, but not that night. He simply didn;t have the energy with his head still pounding.

After giving Ron and Hermione reassurances, Harry turned and headed towards the staircase that would take him to his room. Along the way, Harry spied Neville reading a book in the corner. Harry walked over to speak with him.

“Hey Neville,” Harry began, “I’m really sorry you dragged down with me in Potions today. Snape was being a real git.”  
  
Neville lowered his book and smiled tiredly. 

“It’s alright. He hasn’t picked on me in weeks, so I knew something was bound to happen soon. Thank you for putting up with me ruining the Potion so many times. I appreciate that you stuck with me.”

It suddenly struck Harry how much Neville had changed from the little boy who confronted them late one night during their first year, or even from the young student scared of his Potions instructor more than anything. Harry wondered if the change could be, in part, from the DA. Part of Harry hoped that it was the case, hoped that he made a difference.

Harry just smiled, and wished Neville goodnight. He climbed up to his room, and began his usual nighttime routine. The room was empty, and Harry settled into his bed, pulling close the drapes that hung around him. 

After some time, Harry could hear his roommates enter their room. They prepared for bed softly, without the usual banter and good natured jokes to one another. Absently, Harry wondered if Ron had warned them of his headache. Before long, the room grew quiet, with Harry still staring up at the top of his bed hangings. 

The pounding in his head had not subsided. Although he didn’t think he would vomit, he stomach was still churning, and he could tell that he still couldn’t quite see straight out of his left eye, even without his glasses on. Harry sighed. He had long since come to a conclusion, but he didn’t want to face it. After another moment of deliberation, Harry silently crept out of his bed.

Just like last time he didn’t bother with his map or cloak. Harry simply threw on a pair of Dudley’s old trainer’s, and slipped on his glasses. As he passed the empty hearth in the common room, his thoughts drifted towards Sirius. Harry briefly considered trying to call him, but quickly banished the thought from his mind. He’d only worry Sirius, and it wasn’t as if Sirius could help Harry anyway.

Harry stumbled down the Gryffindor staircase, and emerged into the corridor. Unlike his early morning walk, there was no light in the hall. Harry muttered a _lumos,_ but winced and cried out softly at the pain the orb of light elicited. 

Instead, Harry padded to the edge of the corridor, where the wall met the floor. He walked these corridors for the past five years, and moved from memory, as he dragged his hand lightly against the tapestry covered wall. 

Somewhere around the third floor staircase he had to stop and sit. For the first time Harry could remember, the stairs stayed motionless, perhaps to match his somber mood. The dizziness had returned, and with it the nausea. Harry couldn’t trust himself to move down the stone staircase until the wave had passed.

When he finally reached the hospital wing, Harry could feel a cold sweat breaking out along the back of his neck. He pushed open the heavy doors with a heave and entered.There was only one patient in the hospital wing tonight, a small form sleeping in one of the furthest beds. Harry stood in the center of the room, feeling a bit lost. 

Luckily, something must have alerted Madame Pomfrey to Harry’s presence, because she emerged from the back room. Harry clearly woke her, as she still donned sleeping robes, and had a bonnet over her hair. She approached Harry with a wary expression on her face.

“What’s wrong Mr. Potter?”

Harry swallowed. His throat felt like sandpaper, and he suddenly feared that if he tried to speak, no words would come out at all.

“I’ve a headache.” He croaked. 

Madam Pomfrey studied him with her experienced gaze. After a moment, something shifted in her expression, and she ushered Harry into the private store room near the back of the hospital wing. Harry knew there was probably something significant in Madam Pomfrey’s expression, but Harry was too exhausted to care. At this point, he’d willingly walk straight into Voldemort’s arms if it could stop his headache.

The store room was much brighter than the moonlit main room. The sudden change in light made Harry flinch, and let out the faintest of whimpers. Madam Pomfrey noticed, and waved her wand, causing the lights to dim to a warm glow. Harry looked around the room. For the amount of time he’d spent in the hospital wing, he’d never seen the inside of this section. The walls were lined with floor to ceiling cupboards made of a dark, polished wood. Near the back of the room, a neat desk sat, covered with tidy stacks of parchment. Although he’d never considered it, Harry supposed that Madam Pomfrey must document the injuries and illnesses of the Hogwarts students, not to mention her treatment. Absently, Harry wondered if he had a file somewhere in this room, and wondered how thick it was.

Madam Pomfrey drew Harry’s attention back with a soft question.

“What?”

“I asked how long you’ve had a headache Mr. Potter.” Madam Pomfrey repeated softly.

“Um… I think about a day and a half now. I’m not entirely sure.”

Madame Pomfrey just ‘hmphed,’ and began to cast some sort of charm over Harry. He felt as if someone dumped a cool bucket of water over his head. The diagnosing spell, he recognized, dripped from his head to his shoulders, and down his body. Madam Pomfrey frowned at whatever it revealed.

“Have you taken anything already Mr. Potter?”

“I took a headache draught,” Harry admitted. “A dose last night, and then one this morning.”

“Did they help?” 

“Maybe a bit, after the second dose I could take a nap for a few hours today.”

Madam Pomfrey sighed. 

“I can’t give you any more headache draught if you’ve already taken two doses in the past day. And if that barely helped, then I’m afraid a simple Pepper-Up won’t help you at all.”

Harry nodded, and felt a growing worry in the pit of his stomach.

“And I’m afraid,” Madam Pomfrey continued, “The last of my stock of pain relief potions was...er… depleted last night, and I’m not to receive more till tomorrow morning”

Harry froze, his mind working at snail pace. Slowly, he nodded his head.

“I’ll just head back to bed then.”

“Wait.” Madame Pomfrey called out. She hesitated. “I’m sure Professor Snape has already finished brewing, I can have him bring some stock here early.”

Harry paused. “You don’t have to wake up Snape Madam Pomfrey, or drag him all the way up here, I’ll be fine.” Harry didn’t even have the energy to summon a smile. He was sure it wouldn’t be convincing anyway.

“Nonsense.” Madame Pomfrey responded with more certainty. “ _Professor_ Snape is the Potion’s Master here, this is a part of his job. Go rest on a bed while I summon him.” 

Harry thought of arguing, but the icepicks of pain behind his eye and scar sapped the fight from him. Instead, Harry simply wandered back into the main section of the hospital wing. He sat on the bed furthest the other occupant. Harry stared forward for a moment, then took his glasses off. He folded them neatly, and placed them carefully on the bedside table. Harry closed his eyes, and let his body softly fally sideways onto the starched blanket.


	5. Night

Despite the late hour, Severus Snape was not asleep when the floo call from Madam Pomfrey came through. He had finished up the last of the healing potions an hour ago, and now Severus was attempting to work on his latest research experiment before heading to bed. The eruption of green flames in the fireplace nearly startled Snape (although he would never admit it).

“Severus?” Madame Pomfrey called out. “Severus, are you there.”

Snape put a stasis spell over the cauldron in which he was brewing, and shuffled over to the fireplace. Although the pain was nearly gone, his leg still felt stiff after the brutal amount of torture Lord Voldemort unleashed on his followers the previous night.

“Yes Poppy,” Snape replied as he stuck his head into the fireplace. “What’s wrong?”

“Have you finished tomorrow’s potions yet?” She asked in response.

“I have.”

“Oh thank goodness. I need you to fetch a few for me.”   
Snape listened as the healer listed off several potions, making a mental list in his head. Before he could turn towards one of his locked storerooms, Madame Pomfrey stopped him with questions.

“How is your leg doing today Severus?”   
Snape grimaced at the question, absently rubbing the stiff appendage.Voldemort had been particularly vindictive the previous night. Snape knew that  _ he,  _ rather than a student, had drained Madame’s Pomfrey’s stocks.

“It’s feeling much better, thank you. It seems there are no lingering effects from the Cruciatus.”

“Good,” she said with a tight smile on her face. “Do you mind bringing the potions up? I’d get them myself, but I worried to leave him alone here,” Madame Pomfrey said, turning her head back to look towards the ward. “I suppose I could summon a house elf to pick them-”   
“No.” Snape said with a slight grimace, “I can bring them.” He shuddered to think of the damage any random elf could do with these volatile Potions. 

“Thank you Severus,” Pomfrey said with a soft smile, and began to turn around.

“Poppy,” Snape called out. “Which student is ill?” Snape had enough Healer certifications to be allowed information about patients at the Hospital Wing. Besides, Snape felt curious based on the Potions Pomfrey requested. The healer turned back to the floo.

“Potter. It’s Harry Potter.”

Snape resisted the urge to sneer as he said goodbye. Of course Potter would be the one to draw him from his brewing late into the night. Snape angrily vanished his potion, it was already ruined from his floo call with Pomfrey. He headed towards his secure storeroom, and grabbed a few vials from his carefully labelled crates. Tomorrow, the most senior and experienced house elves would carefully transfer the crates to the hospital wing, taking the utmost precautions. For now, Snape simply slipped the vials into a deep pocket of his robes, and headed out of his brewing room, locking and warding it behind him.

  
  


As Harry lay in the hospital wing, he  _ sensed,  _ rather than saw or heard Madame Pomfrey approach him. His head was still pounding, and the pain seemed to have settled in three distinct spots; behind his scar, his right eye socket, and the base of his head. He wondered if this is what a bad Cruciatus felt like. Darkly, Harry finally understood how pain could drive someone insane, like Neville’s parents.But Harry quickly stopped that thought. The Longbottom’s were in the Order, they fought a war; Harry was just a kid who somehow survived by luck.

The cool feeling of another diagnosing spell made Harry shiver suddenly. 

“Are you cold, Mr. Potter?” Madame Pomfrey asked softly.

Harry ‘hmmphed’ in a vaguely negating manner.

“Professor Snape is bringing the Potions now, how do you feel?”   
Harry just remained silent.

  
  


As Snape navigated the mazes of the dungeon, hiked up the familiar staircases, and crossed the Great Hall, his anger began to dissipate. Despite his hatred for Harry, he realized there was little chance the boy was faking an illness for attention. For starters, he wouldn’t risk vomiting on Snape’s boots. Even the bravest of Gryffindor’s wouldn't risk Snape’s wrath like that. 

The longer Snape pondered his interactions with Potter, the more convinced he became that something was wrong with the boy. Aside from his sickness during his detention (which Xnape had initially written off as disgust from the leeches), Potter had been unusually compliant to his punishment, and late to class, not to mention their strange early morning encounter. Snape frowned. Sure, Potter may lurk after curfew, but what 15 year old boy wakes up before sunrise for no discernable reason? Without any conscious thought, Snape hurried his pace.

  
  


When Snape arrived at the hospital wing, Madame Pomfrey met him at the door.

“Thank you for coming so late, Severus.” She ushered him to a still form on a bed in the darkest corner of the wing. Glancing around, Severus saw that nearly all of the other beds were empty.

As they walked across the long room, Pomfrey filled Snape in on Harry’s condition.

“He came complaining of a bad headache,” she explained. “It must be quite bad, if he’d willingly come within 30 paces of here. His body appeared stressed and dehydrated, and I doubt he’s slept well for quite a while now. I’m not sure if this migraine has anything to do with...well… you know,” she said, glancing nervously at Snape. “But his body can’t handle much more of this.”

Snape just grit his teeth, and tightened his hand around the potions.

When they approached, Potter slowly sat up, cracking his eyes as he did so.

“Here you go now Mr. Potter, potion as promised.” Madame Pomfrey whispered as she took the vial from Snape and handed it over to Potter. 

He hesitated, and squinted his eyes at the reddish liquid.

“What is this?” He croaked out.

“Seelie Horn Spirit.” Snape deadpanned.

Harry looked up at Snape, as if only just now noticing the man hovering over his bed.

“Seelies have horns?” Harry questioned.

“It will work almost instantly, and is the strongest painkiller Madame Pomfrey can legally administer.”

Harry held his gaze with Snape, but wordlessly swallowed the vial in one gulp. Both Snape and Madame Pomfrey watched Harry carefully. After a moment, the relief washed through and over him like a gently warm wave at the beach. The pounding in his head finally stopped, and Harry remarked on how  _ quiet  _ it was now. His green eyes seemed to cloud and the tension seeped from his shoulders.

Snape reached into his pockets, and retrieved the other vials. Harry glanced at them warily.

“What are those?”

“Just some more potions to help you dear,” Pomfrey responded. “Rehydration, dreamless sleep, the works.”

“Dreamless sleep?” Harry slurred out, as the Seelie Horn Spirit took hold.

“Do you not want it, Mr. Potter?” Snape asked.

Again, Harry took the potion wordlessly, and stared at the two adults before him. Quickly, his eyelids began drooping, and he half laid, half fell down onto the bed. Madame Pomfrey tutted, and expertly levitated him underneath the covers, pulling off his shoes in the process.

The healer sighed, and looked up at Snape.

“Thank you for your help Severus. Again, I apologize for dragging you out of bed.” She went to brush back her hair, before realizing that it was still in curlers.

“I was already awake. Poppy, you’re exhausted,” Snape commented, without malice. “Go to sleep, I’ll watch him for the next hour.”   
Madame Pomfrey hesitated. She trusted Snape’s healing ability, and knew that no matter his disdain for Harry, he’d never actively let him die, but she still felt guilty.

“Do not worry, I would have been up brewing tonight anyway. Go to bed.”   
“Alright, but don’t hesitate to call me. Seelie Horn Spirit can cause some nasty reactions,” she lectured.

“I shall call you should even a single hair on the Golden Boy’s head look out of place,” Snape assured her.

Slowly, the healer left.

Still standing next to the bed, Snape pulled out a chair. He sat, and kept watch over the boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for sticking around! This was my first fic and it turned from a small idea to the longest thing I've ever written. (about 100 words longer that my last thesis wow)

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, this is longer than I imagined! Originally it was going to be a one shot, but this feels like a natural place to break it. Don't worry, there will be a lot more interactions with snape and other characters in the next chapter!!


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